Dear Ephram
by Ellis Mackenzie
Summary: Ephram gets an unexpected letter. [Post The Unveiling, pre Blind Faith]


"Ephram?" Andrew Brown's voice called down the upstairs hallway. There was something edgy in his voice, something vaguely familiar that Ephram just couldn't quite place. Tearing off his headphones, Ephram slid off his bed and stood, stretching some of the kinks out of his back. By the time he opened his bedroom door, his father was walking towards him.

"Hey." Ephram nodded coolly to acknowledge Andy's presence, noting with interest the paper in his father's hand. "What's that?"

For a moment, Andy stood with an expression of confusion on his face, before he realized what exactly Ephram was inquiring about. "This is why I wanted to talk to you."

Ephram waited a moment, expecting his father to continue. When Andy didn't, Ephram stole a glance at his father's face. Almost immediately, Ephram knew something was seriously out of place; the intensity of the pain in his father's eyes was surprising. Instantly, Ephram's inner- warning radar was set off. "Dad? Are you okay?"

Andy shook his head, as if he could shake off his dazedness as well, but he only partially succeeded. He held the paper out to Ephram, who took a step backwards. Suddenly, Andy started to laugh, completely throwing Ephram off guard.

"What are you laughing at? What's wrong?" Ephram demanded, watching his father continue to laugh. After a second or two, Andy sobered up.

"I'm sorry, Ephram. It's nothing bad… not really," Andy added, almost as an afterthought. "This is for you." He held out the paper again. This time, Ephram reached out to take it.

"What is it?" Ephram looked down at the paper in his hand, as if it might grow teeth and bite him. "Where'd it come from?"

"Your mother." Andy's tone was purposely even; his eyes were completely clear now.

"What?" Ephram exclaimed, thoroughly caught off guard. "Mom?"

Andy shrugged and said, "It's a letter for you. She wrote it a long time ago--"

"Obviously," Ephram said, still studying the note. He hadn't meant to be so facetious, but he was still reeling with surprise. Not only was this entirely out of the blue, but he was also shocked at how intensely he was moved. In the year following his mother's death, he had made an active effort to lessen the pain that coursed through him whenever she was mentioned. After his mother's unveiling, Ephram had hoped the worst was over, that now he could settle in to a relatively normal live. Now he realized he wasn't nearly as "over it" as he had hoped.

Andy decided to ignore Ephram's tone. "She used to write you notes for your milestone birthdays. Letters she hoped you'd keep forever, maybe to show your kids." Andy's eyes glazed over slightly, but Ephram said nothing. Both men were staring at the walls of their Colorado home, but both were seeing something entirely different. "She was always trying to get me to write them, too, but… I never did."

Ephram stood silently, trying to ignore the feelings buzzing around in his head. "Why didn't she ever give us the letters?"

Andy shrugged. "I'm not sure. She mentioned giving them all to you on your twenty first birthday, but I didn't know what she really had planned. I… wasn't paying attention."

_Like always,_ Ephram thought bitterly, but immediately reproved himself. Despite his father's obvious faults, Andy Brown had tried so hard to come through for his kids. Ephram took a deep breath. "When did she write this? I mean, I was only—"

"She wrote them weeks, months, sometimes even years in advance," said Andy, keeping his voice even. "She'd rewrite some of them, if something happened or she had a different thought."

Ephram nodded, and Andy stopped talking. They both stood there for a few minutes, quietly reflecting on times—and people—past. At least, Ephram spoke up.

"So, where are the rest of them? I mean, Sixteen isn't the only milestone, right? And what about Delia—"

Andy held up a hand to stop the torrent of Ephram's questions. "I found Delia's first. I was going to wait for her birthday and give them to her then, all in one package. As for your other letters, they're still where I found them. I just thought you'd want to see… this one."

"Where you found them?" Ephram echoed, fighting the tears that threatened to slide down his face. His sixteenth birthday would be his first birthday spent without his mother. It was such an important event in a teenager's life, and his mother would never get to share it in. Or, so he had thought.

"These letters were in a box Nonny found when we were in New York. She thought I should give them to you kids." Andy said, his thoughts elsewhere.

"Thanks, Dad," Ephram said, surprising both of them. Ephram's hand closed over the hand written letter and fell to his side. He stood up straight, and took a deep breath. Nodding at his father, he turned to his room. "I'll be… out in a little while."

Andy half-smiled. "I understand."

Ephram nodded again and shut his bedroom door. He thought about locking it, but felt silly just thinking it. Instead, he walked slowly over to his desk on the far side of the room, his thoughts straying every which way. He sat down, setting the letter in front of him.

For a few minutes Ephram just stared at it, as if by looking at it long enough, he could magically understand what it said, without having to actually read it. For a second or two, Ephram thought about not reading it at all, just packing it away with his most private possessions, saving its pain for another day. Quickly, that idea was dismissed. Ephram knew he had to read this letter, if only to give himself reassurance that he was doing fine… and he'd be okay.

Exhaling deeply, he reached out and unfolded the letter. At first his mind tried to race through the words, sucking them up quickly so the letter would be read and he'd be done, but he forced himself to slow down, so that he could understand every word, every sentence – every word.

_Dear Ephram,_

_Hello, my darling. My baby boy. I know you don't like it when I say things like that, but I must reply to you with the oldest "Mother excuse" ever - you'll always be my baby. _

_It's true. Today is your sixteenth birthday, but when I look at you, I don't see a tall young man standing in front of me; I see that tiny little toddler who was fighting not to fall each step he took. Oh, you wobbled around with the best of them, Ephram, with your arms waving about. Sometimes you'd fall, sitting there looking so stunned. Then you'd pull yourself up and be off again--but most importantly, you had the biggest smile on your face throughout the entire process. You were the sweetest child, Ephram Brown, and that hasn't changed. Come rain, come shine... to me you'll always be the sweet little toddler learning to walk._

_Through the years you've gotten bigger - and that's about the only thing that has changed. When you get angry, your forehead wrinkles in exactly the same way. When you're happy, your eyes light up like Christmas trees and shine-oh, how they shine. One day, some girl will come along and love those eyes ALMOST as much as I do... but you'll always be my baby boy._

_You're growing into a fine young man; you're a son any mother would be proud to have. You're positively brilliant and have the most wicked sense of humor - in a good way, of course! So on this, yours sixteenth birthday, allow me one sappy mom moment, just so I can say I love you._

_I love you Ephram, with all of my heart. Forever and ever 'til the day I die._

_Love, Mom_

Ephram set the letter down on the table in front of him, wiping hastily at his eyes. Despite his insistence to the contrary, he was _not_ okay, and the tears running down his face could not be stopped. He missed his mother's presence so much, her guidance, her gentle smile. He missed everything about her, even the way she'd yell at him for not practicing, or that infuriatingly patient look she'd get while attempting to help him with his geometry homework. He missed it all.

The letter did not help him in the ways he thought it might, but it did help him. It was almost as if, through the letter, his mother had a solid connection with him as he read it. The longing became so intense that for a few moments here and there, Ephram's heart would stop and the tears would run.

Ephram's finger started tracing the letters, his mind's eye seeing his mother as she wrote it. She would have been wearing one of her blue sweaters – she always liked those best – with her favorite khaki pants she had patched more than seven times. She was probably sitting at the desk in the library, next to the window, with the sunshine streaming in, writing slowly but steadily.

Ephram brought a hand to his eyes, wiping hastily at the wetness. Rereading the letter, he smiled and did not stop. This letter was what he needed, what he had been wanting. It made him feel loved, it made him remember all the good things about this mother. But mostly, it made him feel fine, that everything would be okay, just as if his mother was really here. Somehow she had known that, no matter what, he'd be okay. His life would turn out alright, he'd be fine.

It would be okay.


End file.
